Part 79 (1/2)
”'Tis strange,” said he, ”and pa.s.sing strange that they should all lie dead--not a living man among them! How think you Roger?”
”I think, lord, others have been here afore us. See you this knight now, his gorget loosed off--”
”O messire!” said a faint voice hard by, ”if ye have any pity save me from the crone--for the love of Christ let not the hag slay me as she hath so many--save me!”
Starting round, Beltane espied a pale face that glared up at him from a thick furze-bush beside the way, a youthful face albeit haggard and drawn.
”Fear not!” said Beltane, kneeling beside the wounded youth, ”thy life is safe from us. But what mean you by talk of hag and crone?”
”Ah, messire, to-day, ere the dawn, we fell upon Sir Benedict of Bourne--a seditious lord who hath long withstood Duke Ivo. But though his men were few they fought hard and gained the ford ahead of us. And in the fight I, with many others as ye see, was smitten down and the fight rolled on and left us here in the dust. As I lay, striving to tend my hurt and hearkening to the sighs and groans of the stricken, I heard a scream, and looking about, beheld an ancient woman--busied with her knife--slaying--slaying and robbing the dead--ah, behold her--with the black-haired archer--yonder!”
And verily Roger stepped forth of the underwood that clothed the steep, dragging a thing of rags and tatters, a wretched creature, bent and wrinkled, that mopped and mowed with toothless chaps and clutched a misshapen bundle in yellow, talon-like fingers, and these yellow fingers were splotched horribly with dark stains even as were the rags that covered her. She whined and whimpered querulously, mouthing inarticulate plaints and prayers as Roger haled her along, with c.n.u.t and Walkyn, fierce and scowling, behind. Having brought her to Beltane, Roger loosed her, and wrenching away her bundle, opened it, and lo! a yellow-gleaming h.o.a.rd of golden neck-chains, of rings and armlets, of golden spurs and belt-buckles, the which he incontinent scattered at Beltane's feet; whereon the gibbering creature screamed in high-pitched, cracked and ancient voice, and, screeching, threw herself upon the gold and fell to scrabbling among the dust with her gnarled and bony fingers; and ever as she raked and raked, she screeched harsh and high--a hateful noise that ended, of a sudden, in a wheezing sob, and sinking down, she lay outstretched and silent, her wrinkled face in the dust and a cloth-yard shaft transfixing her yellow throat.
So swift had death been dealt that all men fell back a pace and were yet staring down at this awful dead thing when forth from the brush an archer crawled painfully, his bow yet in his hand, and so lay, panting loud and hoa.r.s.e.
”Ha!” cried c.n.u.t, ”'tis l.u.s.ty Siward of our archers! How now, Siward?”
”I'm sped, c.n.u.t!” groaned Siward, ”but yon hag lieth dead, so am I-- content. I've watched her slay John that was my comrade, you'll mind-- for his armlet. And--good Sir Hugh she stabbed,--yonder he lieth--him she slew for--spurs and chain. When I fell I--dropped my bow--in the brush, yonder--I have been two hours creeping--a dozen yards to--reach my bow but--I got it at last--Aha!” And Siward, feebly pointing to the ancient, dead woman, strove to laugh and so--died.
Then Beltane turned, and coming beside the wounded youth spake him tender and compa.s.sionate.
”Young sir, we must hence, but first can I do aught forthee?”
”O messire, an I might--come to the river--water!”
Saying no word, Beltane stooped and lifting the young knight very carefully, bore him down toward the ford.
”Messire,” quoth the young knight, stifling his groans, ”art very strong and wondrous gentle withal!” Presently Beltane brought him beside the river, and while the youth drank, laid bare an ugly wound above the knee and bathed it with his hand, and, thereafter, tearing a strip from his ragged cloak, he bound it tight above the hurt, (even as he had seen Sir Fidelis do) and thus stayed the bleeding. Now while this was a-doing, the young knight must needs talk.
”Ho!” cried he, ”'twas a good fight, messire, and he who gave me this was none other than Benedict of Bourne himself--whom our good Duke doth fondly imagine pent up within Thrasfordham! O indeed 'twas Sir Benedict, I saw his hawk-face plain ere he closed his vizor, and he fought left-handed. Moreover, beside him I recognised the leaping dog blazoned on the s.h.i.+eld of Hacon of Trant--Oho, this shall be wondrous news for Duke Ivo, methinks. But, faith, 'tis wonder how he escaped Sir Rollo, and as for the outlaw Beltane we saw nought of him--Sir Pertolepe vows he was not of this company--mayhap Sir Rollo hath him, 'tis so I pray--so, peradventure I shall see him hang yet! My grateful thanks, messire, for thy tender care of me. At home I have a mother that watcheth and prayeth for me--prithee tell me thy name that she may remember it in her prayers?”
”I am called Beltane the Outlaw, sir knight--and I charge thee to heed that thy bandage slip not, lest the bleeding start afresh--fare thee well!” So saying, Beltane turned and went on across the ford what time the young knight, propped upon weak elbow, stared after him wide of eye and mouth.
Forthwith Beltane, setting horn to lip, sounded the rally, and very soon the three hundred crossed the ford and swung off to the left into the green.
Thus, heartened and refreshed by food and rest, they pressed on amain southward through the forest with eyes and ears alert and on the strain; what time grim Sir Benedict, riding with his rearguard, peered through the dust of battle but saw only the threatening column of the foe upon the forest road behind, rank upon rank far as the eye could reach, and the dense green of the adjacent woods on either flank whence unseen arrows whizzed ever and anon to glance from his heavy armour.
”Ha, Benedict!” quoth Sir Brian, ”they do know thee, methinks, 'spite thy plain armour--'tis the third shaft hath struck thee in as many minutes!”
”So needs must I stifle and sweat within closed casque!” Sir Benedict groaned. Upon his right hand Sir Brian rode and upon his left his chiefest esquire, and oft needs must they wheel their chargers to front the thunderous onset of Red Pertolepe's fierce van, at the which times Sir Benedict laughed and gibed through his vizor as he thrust and smote left-armed, parrying sword and lance-point right skilfully nevertheless, since s.h.i.+eld he bare none. Time and again they beat back their a.s.sailants thus, until spent and short of wind they gave place to three fresh knights.
”By Our Lady of Hartismere!” panted Sir Brian, ”but thy left arm serves thee well, Benedict!”
”'Tis fair, Brian, 'tis fair, G.o.d be thanked!” sighed Sir Benedict, eyeing his reeking blade, ”though I missed my thrust 'neath yon gentle knight's gorget--”
”Yet sh.o.r.e clean through his helm, my lord!” quoth young Walter the esquire.
”Why truly, 'tis a good blade, this of mine,” said Sir Benedict, and sighed again.
”Art doleful, Benedict?” questioned Sir Brian, ”'tis not like thee when steel is ringing, man.”